


Stricken

by yeaka



Category: TOLKIEN J. R. R. - Works & Related Fandoms, The Hobbit - All Media Types, The Lord of the Rings - All Media Types
Genre: M/M, Vignette
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-12
Updated: 2019-11-12
Packaged: 2021-01-29 05:02:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 513
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21404617
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yeaka/pseuds/yeaka
Summary: Thranduil entertains only one of Elrond’s party.
Relationships: Erestor/Thranduil (Tolkien)
Kudos: 55





	Stricken

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: I don’t own The Hobbit, The Lord of the Rings, or any of their contents, and I’m not making any money off this.

Most members of Elrond’s company are as dreadfully dull as their lord, and Thranduil pays them little mind. He hosts a grand feast for their arrival, even toasting his fellow leader, but those are simple formalities, and he throws the party more for the sake of his own people than theirs. After all, Thranduil does enjoy any excuse to break out his best wine. It flows from cup to cup, the minstrels clamouring for attention over the chatter, and dancing soon breaking out amongst those who have already eaten. Few of Elrond’s people join in, but Thranduil’s are a wild bunch, and he finds pleasure in watching their well-sculpted bodies writhe and sway before him. When he tires of the head table, where Elrond has drunk little more than half his glass, Thranduil drifts down amongst the others. 

He sticks along the outer rim of his wide audience chambers. He tends to catch too much attention, being the most handsome creature in the room and also the most important, so he moves mostly behind turned backs. Then he spots the one he’s looking for—the only elf of Imladris worth giving the time of day. 

Erestor stands against one of the pillars at the back, looking out amongst the activities with a subtle frown. Thranduil takes no offense; he knows that is the most common expression on Elrond’s chief advisor. He looks beautiful enough despite it. His long, dark hair is slightly wavy, at least more so than most—something mildly exotic. His equally dark eyes are deep, both wise and interesting. His trim body is tightly wrapped in shadowy blue robes that match the evening sky. Thranduil strolls right up to Erestor’s side and makes no effort to hide his roaming gaze. He doesn’t announce himself, because Erestor is always aware of his surroundings, and he’ll know.

He greets without turning to look, “Your Majesty.”

Thranduil doesn’t bother with the preamble. He knows it’s wasted on an elf so practical. He skips right too, “You look beautiful this evening.”

“Thank you,” Erestor answers, and he doesn’t return the complement. He still doesn’t turn to look at Thranduil. It would be infuriating, if it weren’t so refreshing: every other elf that Thranduil has ever bedded nearly bent over backwards to please him, constantly stuttering praise. As much as Thranduil enjoys praise, he also enjoys occasional variety.

He asks, “What plans have you this evening?”

Erestor glances aside, finally giving Thranduil his full attention. He asks coolly, “Shall I tie you up again? Because that is what will happen if you invite me to your quarters.”

A slight shiver runs down Thranduil’s spine, one that’s entirely pleasant. Normally, he would never allow such impudence. _He’s_ usually the one that does the tying. But it’s spoken so smoothly, with such surety, that he can’t help becoming aroused. He benevolently agrees, “Yes, I will allow you to.”

A rare grin spreads across Erestor’s bow lips. Then he slips away into the crowd, making himself scarce, building anticipation. Feeling exhilarated already, Thranduil goes to have more wine.


End file.
